Page 127 of Never Beguile a Duke

He deposited Winifred inside the warm cabin, spread a heavy blanket over her legs, then closed the door and held an animated conversation with the coachman before reopening the door and joining her.

After sinking onto the bench beside her, the Duke of Beaufort wrapped his arm around her and drew her against his side. He touched his mouth to her temple and sighed as the coach jerked forward.

“If you would prefer,” Winifred twisted toward him, “we can wait to announce our engagement until after the season ends.”

“I would not prefer,” he replied, his clipped tone causing Winifred’s stomach to knot. “I almost lost you to Mr. Curtis’ hand today without ever having confessed my softness for you.”

“You have expressed your sentiments,” she said, intertwining her fingers with his and squeezing.

“Not fully or you wouldn’t question my decision to lose this ridiculous wager.” He brought her hand to his mouth. “Juliette will not forgive me if I allow you to slip away, nor would I forgive myself. Therefore, unless you have an objection for reasons unknown, I’m announcing our engagement upon our return.”

“I have no objection.” Winifred leaned her head against the Duke of Beaufort’s chest, soothed by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Did Miss Juliette truly say she would not forgive you?”

When he didn’t respond, Winifred lifted her head, catching a twitch of amusement that pulled the corner of his mouth into a half-grin.

He glanced down, his eyes twinkling. “Juliette—rather creatively—threatened to never speak to me again, yet to follow me around like a ghost and haunt me.”

Winifred’s mouth popped open. “Who gave her that suggestion?”

“Roxburghe, I suspect.” The Duke of Beaufort leaned closer. “And I will make him suffer for that. However, at this moment, I need to convince my fiancée that I love her.”

He pressed his mouth to hers and dragged her onto his lap, splitting her legs so she straddled him. His hands slipped between the greatcoat and her tattered chemise, scattering goosebumps across her skin as his fingers skimmed over her spine.

She rocked her hips forward, grinding herself against his trousers and drawing a guttural groan from him. His tongue thrusting past her lips, he slid his hands down to her butt and clenched, guiding her body into a rapid tempo against his hardening member.

Neither of them noticed that the coach stopped.

As the door ripped open, a gasp whipped into the cabin. Winifred turned. Standing in the snow, their faces highlighted by the setting sun, were her mother and Nora, each wearing a similar expression of shock.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT

“Thank you all,” Silas said, lifting a snifter of whiskey, “for your attendance in witnessing my grand failure.”

Laughter echoed through the parlor as one by one, his friends saluted in return.

“I hereby declare myself defeated in the grand quest to remain unattached. Though I wish good fortune for the two remaining players, I,”—he took a drink—“don’t envy your lonely lives.”

Warwick set his glass down on the table beside him. “And what of the purse? Were you able to recover any of the funds after the sack was stolen from Roxburghe?”

Silas gestured to Mr. Aylett, who hurried forward from the doorway and deposited the bag beside Warwick’s half-empty snifter.

“You may count the coins to verify the sum if you wish,” Silas said, dismissing Mr. Aylett with a wave of his hand.

“I trust you.” Warwick’s fingers twitched.

“I don’t,” Mansfield said, a rare grin sliding across his face as he strode forward and snatched the bag from the table.

Upending the sack, Mansfield dumped the contents into a small pile, then counted the coins by twos, gesturing for the conversation to continue without him.

“Your Grace?” Mr. Aylett reappeared in the doorway. “Mr. Hughes is waiting in the study.”

“Show him to the parlor,” Silas replied, gesturing around the room. “His information affects more than just me.”

“As you wish.” Bowing, Mr. Aylett scurried from the room and returned a minute later with the parish constable.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Mr. Hughes addressed each man in turn, ending with Silas. “I’ve completed my investigation, and I wanted to share my findings.”